


Emotional Winter

by 191615311, gollymissmolly



Category: The Dresden Files - All Media Types, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Gen, Incest Mention, rape mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2300078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/191615311/pseuds/191615311, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gollymissmolly/pseuds/gollymissmolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At some point Harry regains consciousness.<br/>Lost control aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

He could not remember when he had fallen asleep or why he was so sore, or why his bed was so hard but he knew that at some point during the night he had a nightmare.

In the nightmare Winter had taken over and was now hurting people, wearing Harry’s face. Doing things, _filthy, nasty_ things, things Harry only had ever thought whenever the mantle was trying to gain control and the mantle never took control. Mab had made sure to teach him how to handle it. There was no use for another thug in the Court.

Waking up he rubbed the sleep away from his eyes and as he opened them he was faced with a carpet. _Weird._

Wait, this was Thomas’s carpet, Thomas’s house. Flashes from the nightmare danced around his mind as he slowly looked around, feeling an icy numbness wash over his body as he took in his surroundings.

First there were caked light beige stains, those were small and seemed unimportant only Harry could feel in his gut that these tiny stains were even more important than the dried blood ones right next.

And then…then there was Thomas, naked, skin covered in blood, his jaw bearing the signs of a bruise, his back torn and scarred so much that even his demon hadn’t managed to heal yet and with the same beige caked substance on his hips and his stomach.

_Oh God._

"Thomas," he croaked, his voice alien and dry, "Thomas…oh no."

Thomas was not lacking clarity. He had been painfully present the entire time. The Hunger may have been in control, but he had been there. Fighting it. Watching it. Experiencing everything.

He shifted on the carpet, pulling his legs back up to his chest from where he’d moved. His eyes flicked open, gray to meet Harry’s brown. Every part of his body hurt and he was healing much more slowly than normal. Much faster, still, than a vanilla mortal but still slowly. He shifted to try to hide the worst of his injuries from Harry, though his brother had probably already seen them.

His voice was still raw and painful when he spoke, and he had to force the words out. “Harry.”

"I-" Harry tried to speak but couldn’t. He sat there his mouth trying to form words, before burying his face in his hands. After some time he managed to mutter an almost silent _Oh_ _God,_ again, taking of his duster and crawling over to Thomas to throw it on him, careful not to touch him.

"I am so sorry." he sobbed, hands covering his face again, "I am so fucking sorry, Thomas."

"Harry." Thomas repeated again, pulling the duster around his shoulders despite the pain it caused his injuries. For Harry’s sake. He sat up, supernaturally still except for his eyes, which followed his brother carefully. Finally he reached out, cautiously, to press a hand lightly to Harry’s shoulder. "Don’t, Harry… Harry, look at me. Please, look at me."

He reached up to catch Harry’s wrist and try to pull his hands away from his face. “How much do you remember?”

Harry wouldn’t look at him, he couldn’t. How had he let the Mantle assume such complete control over him? Mab had taught him to lock the Knight up, had spent _months_ teaching him just that so that he had his wits during battle. So we wouldn’t become another Lloyd Slate.

Another thug.

Another rapist.

"Oh God." he sobbed again, "Everything. _Everything_. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. So sorry."

"Then you’ll know you weren’t the only one out of control." He told his brother. "Fuck, I almost _killed_ someone, Harry. And I… Remember everything, too, Harry. _Everything_. Do you know how long it took me to get the control I have now? Nearly thirty years. I’ve been working on this for nearly thirty years and I still fuck up sometimes. You haven’t had that kind of training.”

Thomas pulled Harry’s hand toward him, thumb tracing the half healed bite mark on it. “If you really do remember everything you’ll know that this, too, I can forgive you for.”

He pulled Harry’s other hand down to join the first, holding his wrists together in one hand, a crude imitation of what Harry had done to him. With the other hand he gently cupped Harry’s chin, tilting it up until Harry was looking at him. “I’ll _heal_ , Harry. I’ll be fine.”

Physically, anyway. Emotionally… Probably not. The jury was still out.

Looking into Thomas's eyes brought on a flashback from when the Knight had purposefully retreated while it was happening to fuck up with Harry’s psyche. Pulling his hands from Thomas’s grip to manage and get a bit away, he turned on the side and vomited hard on the carpet until only bile was coming out, adding to the stains from the previous night.

"I’m sorry." he said again, "I’m sorry about your carpet." Somehow the stupid carpet seemed important. Perhaps it was his brain’s way to stir away from the problem at hand. 

“I’ll get it replaced, it’s just a carpet.” Thomas was crouched next to him, duster still on his shoulders. He’d laid a hand gently on Harry’s back, though he didn’t know if it was welcome.

Harry swallowed hard, "I— We— You are my  _brother._ Brothers don’t—”  _rape their own brothers._

He pulled his hand away like he’d been burned at Harry’s next words. “In the White Court they do and if you’d been listening at all to anything either of us said last night… Well.”

_“_ I should have had better control than that. Or all the training sessions with Mab were no good and I need to start again.” he shook his head, “Oh Jesus. Oh son of a bitch. And you wondered why I wanted to kill myself instead of becoming  _this._ ”  
  
His own voice wavered as he spoke and he was unsure how long he could stay calm, even for Harry. “Harry, I found it _offensive_ and _horrifying_ that you wanted to kill yourself instead of having to deal with what I do every damn day of my life, but I understood because I’ve felt the exact same way. I can’t lose you, Harry. Maybe it’s selfish and I don’t care if it is, I don’t care if it makes me the most goddamn selfish being in the entire universe, _I can’t lose you_.”  
  
Thomas’s voice had risen in pitch as he spoke, words tumbling out over each other as fast as he could get them out, and when he was done he bit down on his lip to keep any more from coming out, to keep Harry from seeing how it trembled as he swallowed back tears.

"It had _nothing_ to do with you man. You didn’t choose your Hunger. I _requested_ this mantle. I opened my arms wide and begged Mab to give it to me. What would happen if I was around someone weaker, what if I am around Maggie the next time the Knight takes over? Do you know  John Haigh? Fritz Haarmann? They were my predecessors. You know what they did to children.”  A sob ripped through Harry a sudden flash of memory of something the Hunger had said.

“Yeah. Right. Nothing at all.” The words were dull and a bit bitter. “You won’t hurt Maggie because there will always be someone around to stop you even if you do lose control and… Somehow I doubt she’ll provoke you like I did.”

"You— the other you said… Your demon claimed you loved me." It was not exactly a question, just a sudden flash of remembrance and realization and a little bit of connecting otherwise unimportant dots. "It said..that you _wanted_ this?”

He pulled the duster tighter around him, sinking into it a bit. Into the smell of Harry and the comforting feel of the leather. He thought about how to answer Harry’s statement, phrased as a question. The one that had felt like a punch in a gut to hear from Harry’s mouth, the one thing he’d never wanted Harry to find out. “You know the answer to that. Or at least, the Mantle does.”

The things they said may have been cutting, but only because they were true and hit far too close to home. He watched Harry’s expression from beside him for a couple seconds more before he spoke. “As much as I wish I could say it was, it wasn’t lying.”

Harry got up, away from the filthy carpet and flopped on the couch rubbing his palms on his face again. He tried to speak, his mouth open and closed and made sounds like the beginnings of words bit he simply couldn’t find any that would describe his utter confusion. And he realized at that moment that Thomas had grown up in an environment where incest was not only normal but encouraged as well. He slumped forward propping his elbows on his knees and stared at his feet for a while before managing to find something to say.

"I am sorry."

Sorry for what he did. Sorry that he’d never be able to reciprocate these feelings. Sorry that Thomas had to be abused in such a way by someone he loved. Sorry that despite his best efforts he had remained alive to become _this_.

"It’s not… Empty night, Harry. It’s not your fault that I feel the way I do. It’s not my fault either, for that matter. It’s not like I _wanted_ to fall in love with my little brother.” Thomas was suddenly angry. Not at Harry, just at the unfairness of it all. He pushed himself up as well, standing in the middle of his own living room glaring at his brother. 

"I never fucking wanted you to find out. I mean, I knew you had to know but this should never have happened! That was the only thing I had left that I could pretend you didn’t know about me. That I could pretend you weren’t disgusted by, didn’t pity me for. I don’t-" He made a choked sound and had to swallow harshly a couple times before he could continue. "Don’t know if I can be around you anymore. 

"Because that’s always been a fantasy of mine. You know that? I’ve always wanted that. As long as you’ve had the Mantle I’ve wanted you to take it out on me. All the anger, the violence, the need fuck and kill and maim, all of it. Because I knew I could take it, deserve it even. But I never thought it would be, well, I guess it was stupid of me to think I could do it without my feelings being brought into it."

 He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to keep the tears from spilling over.

It was too much for Harry. He was not exactly emotionally stable before but after all that had happened the night before and Thomas’s heartbreaking confession he felt himself tapping into Winter to help him manage his emotions. His posture changed, he was still Harry but with Winter as an emotional windshield.

"About what happened last night, Thomas. I’m sorry. I really am. Even if you liked it. But it will _never_ happen again and it will certainly not happen as long as I can keep the son of a bitch locked up.” Coldly he looked at his brother who was on the verge of tears. “And no,” he said, “I do not think you should be around me anymore, either.”


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas stared at him, silent and still, for a long moment before he turned fled into his bedroom and the bathroom beyond that. It only occurred to him after he’d slammed the bathroom door shut that he still had the duster with him.

He let it fall to the floor and followed it moments later, crumpling onto the tile. He couldn’t hold the tears back now and he couldn’t breathe for sobbing as he clutched the only thing he had left of his brother to him. He didn’t bother to turn on the shower, not yet.

"I can’t lose you." He told the duster. He knew it wasn’t Harry but it was the closest thing he felt like he’d ever have again, and even that for god knew how long before it was taken from him. "It’ll be awful, but the alternative is even worse."

Finally he managed to push himself back up off the floor. He didn’t know if Harry was still even out there, maybe he’d left. If he had, well, he’d be talking to an empty apartment with no one the wiser. If he hadn’t… Thomas didn’t think he could actually get any more pitiful.

"Please don’t leave." He managed to call through the door, not trying to mask the fact that he was still crying. He wanted to go on but he didn’t think he could, instead turning to the shower and turning it to scalding hot. If nothing else he could be thankful his water heater still worked.

Harry stood there watching his brother retreat to the bathroom. He made for the door but stayed with his hand on the doorknob, his forehead on the door for a few minutes before muttering “Hell’s Bells.” and making a turn to go knock on the bathroom door. He should at least make sure Thomas wouldn’t hurt himself. _Then_ they could go their separate ways.

And he still had his duster.

He was about to knock on the bathroom door when he heard Thomas’s plea, the pain in his voice sending such a stab through Harry’s heart that despite his tapping into the mantle was enough to fry the bathroom light.

"Thomas?" he called. "Get out, man, there’s— Look I’m sorry. Come out, let’s talk."

He could hear the water running so he wasn’t sure if Thomas had listened to him. Still with the bathroom now in complete darkness he should be getting out soon.

Thomas flinched as the light when out, but it didn’t really deter him. He could still see well enough in the dark. He stepped under the shower and though the water burned and stung on his injuries and just plain burned on the rest of his skin he didn’t make a move to turn it down. Instead he began scrubbing at his skin with his fingers, watching the water run dark with his blood as it came off.  
  
“Give me a couple minutes. Get a beer out of the fridge or something. Just… Give me a couple minutes to sort my shit out?” Thomas asked after a few moments of silence. It still sounded a bit much like a desperate plea for his taste.  
  
He scrubbed until his skin was raw and red and more or less free of blood, though he was pretty sure he’d never actually get the taste of it out of his mouth, especially mixed with the taste of Harry. After he’d finished in the shower he brushed his teeth, thoroughly, but even the mint of his toothpaste couldn’t seem to erase the taste from his mouth. Next were clothes and… facing Harry.  
  
It took him another minute of staring at the bathroom door to get to the point where he thought he could look at his brother again without immediately breaking down or running away again. He cracked the door open and peeked out, but not before making sure his towel was wrapped firmly around him, covering everything from just below his arms to mid-thigh. “Harry?”

"Kitchen." Harry called taking a swig out of the whiskey bottle in his hands. Watching as Thomas made his way in the kitchen wearing long pants and a towel around his shoulders.

His brother’s wounds had already healed, leaving behind flawless marble like skin that was a little bit redder than usual, probably from the hot water. He was taking another gulp of alcohol when Thomas turned to open the fridge and Harry noticed his back.

"Since when do you scar?" he asked wearily, his free hand rubbing his forehead.

"Since my Demon can only heal my body." Thomas responded, pulling a beer out of the fridge. Cheap kind, nothing nice. The scars still ached and he’d caught sight of them in the mirror, silvery and painfully obvious. He’d stared at them for a full two minutes before realizing that they weren’t going to go away. Not soon, probably not ever. 

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Harry asked not getting it. "Those are on your body."

Thomas gave a short, bitter laugh. “No they’re not. They’re scars on my psyche. They’re just… choosing how to express themselves.”

Harry felt a snarky remark jumping from his brain to his lips when Thomas mentioned scars on his psyche but managed to hold it back. The situation was already bad enough without him being a dick snarking his way out.

Thomas didn’t uncap the beer, instead fiddling with the label, peeling it off with the help of the condensation forming on the bottle and avoiding looking at Harry. Finally he willed himself to speak again. “I don’t- Sorry I put you through that.”

It had been a moment of vulnerability. Harry had ripped him open physically, mentally, emotionally. He hadn’t been able to close it back up in time and everything had come spilling out. Like bleeding out, but emotionally.

The whiskey felt good burning down his throat and when Thomas spoke again apologizing he shook his head. “What _you_ put me through? Hell’s Bells, man you have a bigger martyr complex than I have. It might have been the Mantle at work but I was not exactly gentle with you.”

He actually had to set down the beer to stare disbelievingly at Harry for a moment. It wasn’t like he’d been planning to drink it anyway. Just clutching it as a comfort object because it seemed more ‘adult man’ than a stuffed animal.

"Harry, this situation wouldn’t be _nearly_ as bad if I hadn’t emotionally vomited all over you. As opposed to you literally vomiting all over my carpet. Not that I wasn’t going to replace it anyway.” Snark as a shield. A LeFay family trait. But beneath that his lip trembled a bit and he opened the beer for a distraction, fuck he’d hoped he’d been done choking back tears. “I may be in love with you, but you’re also my brother and… I love you. Just, as my brother. I can’t lose you Harry, not over this, not over anything. I need you, even if it hurts.”

Harry sat silent for a while, not looking at his brother, the golden sunlight from the window jarring with the atmosphere in the kitchen.

"I’m calling Molly." he said finally. "She can deal with this shit, remove the memory from both of us."

Of course. Of course erasing this memory entirely would be exactly what he thought of. It’s hard to deal with so let’s just forget it happened. Forget all this happened. “Right, of course. That’s- Sure. If that’s what you want.”

 He listened carefully as Thomas spoke and pulled another long gulp of booze. “It’s the only way. I think.” he drawled, the alcohol beginning to numb his senses. “You said yourself you can’t be around me anymore. Man-in-Blacking it seems like the only option as we stand.” he paused for a while, staring as the light created all sorts of patterns on the wall. “I love you too. Not like— Hell’s Bells, you’re  my brother, Thomas. I can’t—. Please go call Molly.”

Thomas made a noncommittal sound, not looking at Harry. “You don’t have to fucking _clarify_ , Harry. I’m not stupid, I _know_. If there’s only one thing I know in the entire world, it’s that.”  
  
That, that was why Thomas had said he didn’t think he could be around Harry anymore. Because now Harry knew there was no going back. He was Harry and he couldn’t leave well enough alone or _ever_ wrap his head around the fact that even regardless of what had happened between them, to them, Thomas was still the same person. That he wasn’t going to act or think any differently than before Harry had known how he felt. From now on, every ‘I love you’ would be followed by a hasty, ‘But not like that’ if they were even uttered at all. Doors would be closed in his face where previously they’d be left open because he might get the ‘wrong idea.’  
  
Thomas couldn’t be around him because Harry would pull away from things he wouldn’t have previously. Because he wouldn’t think that Thomas could be in love with him and still be his brother, despite the _years_ he spent doing just that. Maybe it was better, for Harry at least, to forget this ever happened. He’d never had Harry as a lover and there was nothing to miss there, never would be, but he couldn’t lose him as a brother and if Harry knew how he felt that was exactly what would happen.  
  
“Right.” He set the untouched but open beer down on the counter. “I’ll… I’ll be right back.”  
  
The call to Molly didn’t take more than a couple minutes, he didn’t tell her anything other than that Harry needed her to come help him deal with a troublesome memory and that if she needed more explanation she’d get it when she arrived. He didn’t say any words that weren’t entirely necessary.  
  
Harry’s duster was still on the floor of the bathroom and after the phone call he went to retrieve it, to avoid Harry just for a minute longer. His bedroom was a bit messy, so he picked it up. Another few minutes. He retrieved a heavy blanket and spent a minute spreading it over the destroyed area of carpet until it covered as much as it possibly could. Finally he ran out of things to actually do that he could just claim he was doing ‘along the way’ and made his way back to Harry.  
  
“She’s on her way.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Golly-MissMolly.Tumblr.com for her Molly Parts

At some point Harry took his whiskey bottle and wandered back to the living room to wait for Molly. He didn’t check with Thomas if it was okay as he obviously was trying to spend as much time not being alone with him in the same room as possible.

The moment Molly knocked on Thomas’s door she knew _everything_ was wrong. She was not used to getting those kind of vibes around Harry and Thomas. Barring that one time when Harry met Thomas after returning from the dead it was generally a joy being around them, listening to their banter and feeling the brotherly love they shared.

Now the energy was jarring, she felt as if someone was dragging their nails over a blackboard while repeatedly kicking a sickly cat, all of these very close to her ears.

Harry opened the door, looking grim, whiskey in hand and she actually had to take a step back when the door opened and cover her ears. She walked in as Harry stepped aside and took in the surroundings, the blanket on the carpet, the stains it didn’t cover, the acrid smell of sick. Blood.

"Christ alive." she mouthed, "Who died?"

“More like who didn’t and wishes they had.” Thomas muttered mostly to himself. He was leaning in the doorway to the bedroom with the duster folded over one arm, having neglected to actually hand it back to Harry yet.  
  
Molly’s reaction made him feel sick to his stomach. She didn’t need to know what had happened here. She shouldn’t. Everything about it was nothing they should ever ask her to know about. Her reaction was bad enough as it was and it would only get worse when she learned what really happened. Which was inevitable. Right, game face. Or, as game face as he could get given the circumstances. Which wasn’t very game face.  
  
“Molly, thanks for coming. I know I wasn’t very… specific on the phone, but I didn’t want to go into detail like that.” He pushed away from the door frame and took a couple of steps toward Molly. He stopped partway across the room and looked somewhat awkwardly over at Harry. “Do you… want to explain this, Harry?”  
  
It was a plea, he didn’t know how, didn’t know where to start, didn’t want to be the one reveal all this to Molly.

"No." Harry said, pulling another swig from the bottle which was almost empty now. "Just— Can you get in our heads and remove the last twelve hours, grasshopper?"

"With your head I can." Molly replied, her face a little green because of the combination of emotional distress, smell and uneasiness, "I’ve been in your head before so it should be easy."

She turned to Thomas, “I don’t know if it will work on you Thomas.” she looked at him apologetically. “Have never done it to a White Court Vampire before.”

Thomas bit down on his lower lip, thinking, and immediately released it at the vivid flash of Harry’s lips on his it caused, of the punch to the face and the slam of his head against the wall that had caused him to bite through it. He focused on the duster to bring him back to reality, the weight of it folded over his arm where he was virtually hugging it to his chest, the smell of Harry clinging to it, how much less vulnerable he’d felt wearing it than he would have otherwise.  
  
“That’s… We can figure it out as we go. Can you remove a memory without actually looking at it at all?” They could avoid telling her what had happened as much as they wanted but if she was going to see it anyway, well…  She was going to see it anyway. He didn’t really know how that worked and had no experience with other peoples minds beyond soulgazes and sexual desires and fantasies. He could pick up on emotions but he was contributing to the emotional state of the apartment too much for it to jar him at all.  
  
He glanced to the virtually empty bottle of whiskey in Harry’s hand, the expression on Harry’s face, the one on Molly’s. His own feelings. And he knew what he had to do, really his only option. “Do Harry first, then we can figure out what to do about me.”

Harry flopped on the couch, draining the last of the alcohol and just let it fall on the floor. The fuckin’ carpet had been ruined anyway.

"Okay, grasshopper, better not look into this, just— Just remove the last twelve hours. Give me some memories of sleeping or something." his voice drawled and his breath smelled bad. The light from the windows hurt his eyes too.

And he couldn’t take his mind off the fuckin’ carpet.

Molly was going to try to explain that it didn’t work like that— she couldn’t just  _give_  him a new set of memories, not without risking serious injury to his brain, but Harry was three sheets to the wind, and it was probably better  _not_ to listen to him entirely at this point.  She’d do her best.. though the warning about not looking into things too closely was more than a little ominous. 

What exactly was he sending her into?

She glanced anxiously over at Thomas, but he wasn’t much help either, and went to take a seat on the couch beside Harry, and rested her hand on his shoulder.

The first thing that hit her when she stepped into his mind was a stuffy feeling of claustrophobia.  The walls were closing in, shutting down, and everything trapped within them would be crushed.  It took a second for her to push the feeling back away from her (like swimming through a ball pit), and searched for a stable point to anchor herself too. The floor shifted and rolled beneath her, like a ship on rough seas, and it made her feel queasy.  

This is why you should never do psychomancy on drunks, kids.

This was going to be like doing brain surgery on a crashing plane, and Harry’d also requested she do it in the  _dark,_ without any idea what she was supposed to take out.   What the hell had he been thinking?

There was one point of light in the turbulent sea though, and Molly made her way to it, staggering against the imbalance inside his mind until she set foot on a small island.  The only thing on it was a spot of carpet— soiled and ruined.

Thomas watched silently as Molly crossed the room to sit next to Harry, supernaturally still in the doorway, no longer leaning against anything. He knew it couldn’t be easy, going into a drunk person’s mind. When he got desires from drunks they were always dizzy and disoriented, but that was just a flash. A peek behind the curtain, easy to shake without so much as faltering.  
  
What Molly was doing had to be a thousand times harder, especially with the demands that she not look, not see anything she was trying to block out. He couldn’t help but feel bad for her. For himself and Harry as well, but specifically for her. He couldn’t protect Harry and he’d already given up trying in the situation. But somehow he still felt like he could protect Molly, if only he’d do something… But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do anything.  
  
The only thing he could guarantee was that she wouldn’t have to figure out how to dodge around the Hunger. She wouldn’t have to find out if she could block a memory from his mind. He wouldn’t, couldn’t ask her to do that. Not just for her, but for his own sake and Harry’s. He needed to remember this, had to. One of them had to. Harry just couldn’t know.

*

There was an invasion in his domain.

He chuckled to himself. He was starting to sound like Mab. He knew it was Molly, they were acquainted, much more than his conscious self would ever suspect or be willing to admit. He growled longingly as her form was made clear and he straightened his tailored clothes and fixed the snowflake pin on his lapel before stepping on the island himself.

"I hope he’s not killing us off this time." he called to Molly and looked down and scraped some dried blood of the carpet with his polished shoe. "And while you’re here be careful of that Knight douche. He’s not very fun company."

Molly looked up when Harry’s subconscious joined her on the island, and she frowned down at the carpet at their feet.  ”We’ve met.” She muttered under her breath about the Knight, though she didn’t look up from where she was considering the carpet.  Why couldn’t he have picked a smaller, easier to carry symbol?  Molly glanced back out at the rest of his mind (and kept a wary eye open for the Knight). There was no way she could carry this carpet over her shoulder while everything pitched like that, not without help.

Scowling, she knelt next to the carpet square and turned one edge up to roll it in on itself, glancing out across the dark expanse of Harry’s mind again before looking up to his Id.  ”Help me carry this.” 

"Manual labor." id!Harry scoffed, "Had I known I’d have worn my maid’s apron." He did kneel down, however, and helped her roll the carpet and lifted it on his shoulder.

"I’ll watch out for the Knight for you, don’t worry." he said, "And… My conscious self might be a dork but he’s right, you won’t want go looking into this memory."

That was like saying “here’s a big red button with a do not touch sign”.  She was expected to go around cleaning up Harry’s messes without even knowing what they were now, and she’d have thought that his subconscious, of all people, would want her to be well-informed while shuffling around in his brain-pan.  They were both idiots then.

"Without knowing what I’m looking for, I can’t be sure I got it all.  If I don’t get it all, there’s going to be some left and if there’s something left, he’s going to find it an unravel the whole thing." That had been the whole point in erasing his memory of arranging his own death, after all— she couldn’t leave a single trace or he’d put it together.

She took the other end of the carpet and started to walk it off the island, but their height difference made it impossible for her to carry it on her shoulder, so instead Molly signaled Id!Harry to carry his end in his arms, and she did the same, turned around to walk backwards back into the sloshing, dark maze of Harry’s brain.

Molly couldn’t say she entirely trusted Harry’s subconscious (the guy was kind of a dick), but she couldn’t look behind her  _and_ carry the carpet at the same time.  He’d said he’d look out for the Knight… and for now she was going to have to take him at his word.

"I know that." he said rolling his eyes as he tried to carry the carpet on his own and she didn’t let him. "Trust me, _I_ don’t _want_ you in here. You damage my calm. But _he_ loves you. That’s why he doesn’t want you to see this. He has all this pent up guilt from when he tried to have you help arrange our death and then the whole Winter Lady gig you got going there. Stupid _bitch_ with a martyr complex, that’s what he is.” He rearranged the carpet in his arms as they walked. "But he’s right. This is not a good memory. Perhaps if you, I dunno, muted it?"

Like b-movies and horror films. If you turned down the sound, they weren’t nearly as frightening. Right?

Molly mostly ignored what id!Harry was saying, not because she didn’t believe him, but he wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know.  Harry tried to protect people, it was what he did, it was just a part of him, but that didn’t mean it always worked the way he wanted it to.

"This looks like it’s the majority of it." She said, inclining her head towards the carpet and glancing over her shoulder as she walked backwards. "We’ll get this taken care of, then I should just have to deal with the remainders, whatever might have soaked in or hidden."  It wasn’t like muting it, but it wouldn’t leave her exposed to the whole of whatever had happened, either.

For a figment of consciousness he really new shit about how these things worked. He was still impressed by the stunt Molly had pulled with the little spirit of intellect last February.

And if he wanted to be completely honest, Molly scared him. He bet she could even deal with the Knight had she have the time.

"So what will you do with this?" id!Harry asked nodding at the carpet. "Wash it? Burn it? Feed it to ducks down in the park?"

Molly scowled, giving the carpet a bit of a tug, staggering for a moment against the bucking of the floor under their feet— and traversing it backwards wasn’t helping.

"I’m still working on that." She muttered, taking a second to steady herself and look around him mind again, scrambling for an idea.  "Do you think burning it’s going to have any negative effects on him?  I mean, with fire you get smoke, but that’d be the easiest way to get rid of the whole thing at once, and make sure he can’t dig it up."  Unlike the plot of his own death— then again, the way Harry told it, there was Divine Intervention involved in that one.

"It might get a little stuffy in here with the smoke. It’s true. He’d love to burn it himself, I can give you that much" He frowned, "Can’t you do that thing and take it out with you like you did with Skully last time? I mean, maybe you could just take this out and blow it in the real world like dandelion fuzz or something? I think you got all the pieces."

"Won’t work."  She said after a moment’s thought, putting her end of the carpet down to take a break, still struggling to keep her feet.  "She was her own thing— she was real, this is just a symbol, a block of memories.  It only exists here, and I guess in Thomas’ mind too.  I can’t take it  _out_ — I can’t even destroy it, really.  The best I can do is—”  Molly stopped suddenly and looked at id!Harry with a a grin.  ”You’re a genius— I could  _kiss_ you!  C’mon, this way.” She said, grabbing up her end of the carpet and backing her way into the darkness again.

"I _would_ kiss you if I were him.” id!Harry said as he walked, “And of course I am!” he said obnoxiously, “Where do you think all of Harry’s smarts go? You do know he’s not _really_ an idiot. Heh. Will you just let me carry that thing for you?” he asked indicating the carpet again, “And let me know what you’re going to do?”

"Yeah, well, you’d do a lot of stupid shit if you were him." she countered automatically, turned over her shoulder to look behind her, though she did finally relinquish her hold on the carpet and staggered a few feet into the darkness.  She considered Harry’s mind for a moment, then pulled up a spotlight to give them more light to work by, and a giant paper shredder inside it.  

Okay, so it wasn’t the most elegant solution, but it would get the job done.

"Pieces.  You were right about the pieces.  I can’t take it out, but I can bury it in pieces.  He’ll need all of them to put it back together again, and he’d have to  _find_ them first. The more pieces, the less chance of him finding them and taping them up.   Provided  _someone_ —” she gave Id!Harry a pointed look, “doesn’t go helping him look for them.”

"Pffft. I don’t want him to remember this shit. The other time was different. I like living. Or whatever _this_ is.” he said as he helped Molly unroll the carpet to feed it in the paper shredder. 

" I think this is the definition of living vicariously." she muttered, hauling the carpet up onto the table and sending it through the shredder, using all of her body weight to keep it going in straight.  

“Are you sure this is going to get the job done?”

"No, but it’s the best idea I’ve got for getting rid of something I’m not supposed to look at."  She complained, but as the  carpet started to run through on its own, Molly leaned down to pick up the pieces which somehow became smaller in her hand, small enough that she could carry them without worry.  She made her way to a tall bookshelf a few footsteps away, and began tucking the shreds into various books, trinkets and hidey holes.  Each sliver of this memory was buried inside another memory- the dustiest ones, the most undisturbed ones, the ones Harry chose to never touch or had forgotten about entirely.  

"Maybe we’ll come up with something better in the future and I can try to get back in here, but I doubt he’s gonna  _let_ me unless it starts bothering him.  But I can at least keep him from putting the whole thing back together- a flash every now and then might be unavoidable though.”

"Hmm. Sounds good to me. I’ll try and stir him clear from it as well. He might be a douche but he’s okay, I guess." he helped her as the carpet moved easily and finally was entirely through the shredder. "Thank you, Molly."

*

Harry’s eyes blinked open after a while, his mind still hazy from the alcohol. He looked around and saw he was in Thomas’s apartment, lying in the couch. He could hear voices coming from the other room.

"Thomas?" he called then grumbled, "How’d I end up here?"


	4. Chapter 4

When Molly came back to her own body and opened her eyes, she thought she was going to throw up. It was a combination of motion sickness and a hang over, and she groaned and smacked  Harry in the arm on general principle.  This was all his fault anyway, surely.

After she caught her breath, she turned to look at Thomas, but didn’t move to get off the couch.  ”Okay.  Your turn, Thomas.”

She still felt dizzy, like she could faint or pass out and be all the happier for it.  Stupid Harry, asking her to go into his head while he was blitzed.  At least now they’d have a convenient excuse for why he was missing twelve hours of his memory.

Thomas startled when she spoke, yanked out of the reverie he’d fallen into watching her work. He had to stare at her for a moment before her words processed and he could respond. “No, it’s not. I don’t want my memory messed with.”  
  
Because one of them had to remember it and it couldn’t be Harry. It had to be him. There were so many reasons he couldn’t let her into his head. Instead he made his way over to Harry and set the duster down gently on his chest, hesitating at the last moment and nearly having to pry it out of his own hand to let go of it. “How long do you think it’ll be before he wakes up?”

Molly leaned back against the couch to settled her stomach and her mind, and watched Thomas carefully, as he lay the duster across Harry and said he wouldn’t let her in.

She glanced over at Harry and shrugged, “Couple hours, maybe.  Between the liquor and the psychomancy, he’s feeling pretty relaxed right now so a little nap’s not going to hurt him. “

Giving Harry a pointed look, Molly sat forward and draped her elbows across her knees to stare up at Thomas again, “… do you want to go talk in another room?”  Where there was no way Harry could hear, not even subconsciously, “He’ll be fine here for a while.”

Thomas considered it for a few moments before he nodded. “Can’t hurt, I suppose. But you have to understand, I can’t really tell you anymore than you can probably guess.”  
  
He nodded in the direction of the kitchen, so they wouldn’t have to walk past the carpet. He knew he couldn’t tell Molly what had happened even if he wanted to — he didn’t — but she deserved some sort of explanation at least. Not that he didn’t think she was smart enough to put it together if she really tried, but he didn’t think she would want to.  
  
He sunk down in a chair at the kitchen table, suddenly feeling very tired, and dropped his head into his hands. He barely glanced up as Molly sat down, instead opting to stare down at the table. “I need to keep the memory.”

Molly climbed off the couch and followed Thomas to the kitchen, glancing back to double check on Harry, and trailing a hand along the wall as she went in case she lost her balance.  The headache was starting to fade, but just in case.

She sat down in a chair beside him, frowning.  Harry and Harry’s subconscious had already told her that she couldn’t— shouldn’t— know what happened, but she hadn’t expected the same from Thomas.

"Okay…" she said, cautiously.  She’d never do anything against his will, but it did bring up one very important question, "Whatever it is that happened, Thomas, it was bad enough that even Harry’s subconscious told me not to look.   So … why would you want to hold on to something like that?"

"Because one of us has to." Thomas responded, still staring down at the table, shoulders hunched protectively inward. "This… What happened- The memories Harry wants to forget, _why_ he wants to forget them. It’s not something we can both afford to forget. I need to remember so he won’t and so I can avoid situations that would make him go looking. All those sorts of great things.”

Not to mention, the reason Harry wanted to forget it wasn’t exactly applicable to him. He _deserved_ this, needed it even.

"It’s hard to explain when you don’t know the details. Just, know that it’s awful enough Harry doesn’t want to remember it and important enough I do." Awful enough he couldn’t let Molly ever know the extent of it. "I can’t let you in my head anyway. My Hunger, it would try to rip you apart. It’s not something you can avoid, or force into submission, not like Harry’s mantle. It’s everywhere in here, omnipresent, it’d be on you the moment you showed up. I don’t doubt you’d triumph, with your Mantle, but I’d be a casualty. I’d rather remember this than… that."

She didn’t  _like_ it, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t respect his decision.  It hadn’t been so long ago when she’d had a similar choice— but Harry had assigned her a task, and she had to see it through to the bitter end, not just her part in it, but to make sure it went according to plan.  She couldn’t say what Thomas was doing was much different, even if she didn’t know the particulars… and she was starting to think that maybe they were right.  Maybe she didn’t want to know.

"Thomas…" She started a his second attempt at justification, and absently reached out to put her hand on his, "You don’t have to justify your decision to me, okay?  I don’t know what happened, but I’d never ever go in your head without your permission.  I’m sure…. I’m sure if it came down to it, we could put our heads together and find a way for me to get in there without turning your brain into Hiroshima, but you don’t…. have to come up with excuses, okay?  Not around me.  Whatever it is, you want to remember it, and that’s a good enough reason for me.

"Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it though?  I’ve never seen you and Harry like this.  This… isn’t like you guys.   I’m worried." 

Thomas instinctively jerked his hand away from hers. He didn’t feel like he could touch her, he didn’t feel clean enough with the memory still in his head. The only touch he deserved was the sting and burn of nails and teeth in his skin, the pain of a fist connecting with his jaw. He didn’t — couldn’t — have anything gentle. He didn’t know if she’d reach for him again but he shifted away anyway, just slightly. Enough to put another couple of inches between them.

She felt him recoil not just in the physical but mentally- emotionally- too.  It felt like catching a deer in the headlights, just for a second, for them to suddenly take off in a confused, kamikaze bolt for either side of the road, just to get out of the light, and Molly jerked her hand back as well, and kept it in her lap.  She didn’t reach for him again- it was clear he didn’t want to be touched… and she knew that feeling all too well.   
  
“Thank you.” He tried to find somewhere to put his arms but it all seemed too awkward, too vulnerable, and he eventually settled for folding them over his stomach loosely, nearly hugging himself in a position that made him feel less vulnerable but probably look more so. “I know you don’t like hearing it but Harry was right, subconscious Harry was right, I’m right. You don’t want to know, it’s… bad.”  
  
His next words, though they were a calculated half-truth, were the only thing about it he could safely say. He didn’t even mean to say it, the words just kind of slipped out in a half-whisper. “He found out.”  
  
It wasn’t a lie, really. It wasn’t even close to the whole truth, but it definitely wasn’t a lie. Harry had found out. He’d found out and he’d reacted badly and that was part of why he wanted to forget. Why Thomas wanted him to forget, even if he didn’t want Harry to want to forget. Why Thomas _didn’t_ want to forget.

 ”Sorry..”She muttered under her breath as he moved away from her… but she looked up when he finally answered the “what happened” question.

Harry was an oblivious idiot— everyone agreed— he couldn’t even see that the people whom he  _wanted_ to love him actually did, let alone those who never considered in a romantic way.  Like Molly… like Thomas.  But just because Harry was dense when it came to emotions didn’t mean his former apprentice was.  

Her stomach flip-flopped in sympathy for Thomas, and she glanced back out of the kitchen to check that Harry was still asleep on the couch, and she scowled.  Rejection hurt bad enough when it was a glass of ice water on your naked skin— she couldn’t imagine how much it hurt to know that Harry would rather have his memory removed than to know that Thomas loved him as more than a brother.  The selfish prick.  Some day, someone was going to have to teach Harry the meaning of “let them down easy”.

"Oh Thomas… I’m sorry." She whispered, restraining herself from reaching for him again.   "Are you…. are you okay?"  Molly asked, lamely.

Thomas glanced over at her in disbelief. “Do I _seem_ okay?”  
  
The tone of the question hadn’t meat to be quite as harsh as he’d made it and he winced after he said it, looking past her at Harry. “Sorry. No, I’m not okay, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

The sudden outburst was like having someone beat on a gong right next to her Harry-induced hungover head, and Molly winced visibly, but she didn’t hold it against him.  It had been a stupid thing to ask anyway.     
  
A bitter laugh. No, he’d already exhausted all his ‘anything stupid’ passes over the past twenty-four hours. He was too worn out to do anything else. He just wanted to curl up and cry. Or sleep. Or cry himself to sleep.  
  
“Don’t… think less of him, or anything. It’s not just that. It’s partly that, but there’s a lot you don’t — can’t — know about the situation. That’s just the part I can tell you. That’s _my_ reason for wanting him not to remember. You know how he’ll treat me if he does.” They both knew Harry, both knew how he’d treat Thomas unintentionally even if the only thing he remembered was that Thomas was in love with him.

She felt like her frown might very well be permanent when Thomas told her not to think any less of Harry.  Like he needed to tell  _her_ that.  It wasn’t that she thought Harry couldn’t do any wrong, clearly he  _could_ and  _did_ pretty often, but there was nothing that had altered how she felt about him— and Thomas knew that… so for him to tell her not to think less of Harry because of something she couldn’t know…

"I’m trying to be really understanding and supportive here, Thomas, but you guys are making is really damn difficult with all this secrecy.  I went in his _head_ and buried things in there— risking permanent damage, and neither of you will tell me why.”  She sighed and pushed her hair back off her forehead in resigned annoyance.  Stubbornness must have run on their mother’s side.  
  
“It’s better he doesn’t know. For both of us. But I need to remember his reaction. Remember that he did know, that somewhere in him he _does_ know. Remember so I can avoid provoking him, so he won’t go looking.”

"I know…" She finally said with acceptance in her voice, "Harry doesn’t do well with knowing that people love him.  He’d rather shut it out entirely, especially when it’s… love from a person that he doesn’t care about like that.  I’m not going to ask you what happened, I’m not going to make you tell me, okay— but if you ever do want to talk to someone about it, or if you just need someone to sit with you and be quiet and not say anything… Well, I’m not so good at the quiet part, but I’m pretty decent at  _sitting_.”

“Thanks.” He tried to make it sound genuine because it was genuine. He appreciated the offer, even if he never planned to take her up on it. “But some crosses we need to bear on our own. I know it’s frustrating that neither of us are forthcoming with any answers but we really, really aren’t lying when we say it’s something you don’t want to know about. It’s not Harry overreacting. What happened, in the last twelve hours, it left permanent damage on us both.”  
  
He rolled his shoulders back at the thought. The fresh scars on his back twinged and itched at the thought of them, agitating him further. He wanted to rub at them but he resisted the urge. Resisting urges was something he was good at.  
  
Another moment and a sound from the next room imperceptible to human ears. He froze in place, glancing over to Molly. “I think he’s waking up.”  
  
A sense of dread filled him at the prospect of facing Harry now. Knowing what he knew, knowing what Harry didn’t. Trying to act like everything was fine between them, everything was normal, not arouse suspicion. It would be hard, maybe the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he’d do it. He had to. Neither of them could afford alternatives.

"Thomas?" Harry called again, louder this time. Hell’s bells, his head was ringing. Why was he here? He was on a job and then…?

He looked down and saw the empty bottle of whiskey and drew back sharply as sunlight reflected on the glass hit him in the eyes.

Shit, just how much he had had to drink? Ugh.

He looked around. Judging from the taste in his mouth and the smell in the room the answer was probably too much. He stumbled towards the hallway to the kitchen to find some water.

"Thomas?" he asked going into the kitchen, "Hey man, do you have any advil?"

Molly looked back to the living room when Thomas said Harry was waking, and looked him over carefully as he walked into the kitchen.  He didn’t seem to have any adverse symptoms from her stroll in his mind, blind and unstable as that operation had been. 

"Hey Boss."  She said, then looked back at Thomas, "I’m gonna head out.  Seriously though, you know where to find me if you need anything."

Thomas thanked her again as she left, waiting until she was out the door before he glanced around at Harry, not quite meeting his gaze. “Yeah, uh… top shelf of the far left cabinet.”

His words were awkward and halting. Somehow he’d forgotten everything he knew about communicating with Harry. He’d have to get better at that _fast_. He could game face the fuck out of virtually anyone but Harry blew right past all his defenses. “Are you… How are you feeling?”

"Uuugh" Harry replied  pressing his forehead on the cabinet before opening it, popping two pills in his mouth without water. "Like someone took a hammer and decided to use my head as whack-a-mole machine."

He waved weakly at Molly and turned to steady himself on the wall completely oblivious to Thomas’s stiff way, “What the fuck did we drink last night?”

"You mean what did _you_ drink? Unless you’re talking about yourself in plural now.” Thomas folded his arms on the table and flopped his head down onto them, watching Harry blankly. “I was completely sober.”

At least he’d already figured out what he was going to tell Harry about the events of the previous night. A convincing half truth that hopefully wouldn’t make him go looking any further.

"You let me drink on my own? Not cool man." Harry had reconsidered and was now downing glass after glass of water, "What the hell happened in your living-room, seems like the unholy trinity of party demons had their annual meeting in there."

“You were already pretty out of it when you showed up. You kind of raided my alcohol stash without permission. Said some pretty hurtful things, passed out on the couch. Also you threw up on my carpet.” That was his story and he was sticking with it.  
  
“Not that the carpet wasn’t already kind of ruined, so don’t worry about it.”

He flopped on a chair and groaned again, “Do you have any food?”

Thomas didn’t move as Harry sat down. “I don’t know, look in the fridge. Order takeout or something. Not like you don’t basically live here.”  
  
This was Harry’s apartment just as much as his by now, he couldn’t very well kick his brother out. But he needed to be away from Harry. He needed to run away and he wasn’t about to deny himself yet another thing that could make him feel better. He stood up and snagged his jacket and keys off the table where he’d thrown them the previous night when he’d gotten in with the model.  
  
“I’m going for a walk.”

  
  


Harry rummaged in the fridge but found nothing he wanted. He glanced at the clock on the wall and saw it was almost lunch time. “Hey, man, don’t you wanna stay for pizza?” Harry asked and then groaned as Thomas picked up his keys, the clinking sound sounding like a gong to his head.

He pressed his fingers to his temples trying to grind out the confusion and feeling of helplessness only a hangover would offer and then noticed Thomas was stiff. He never remembered Thomas actually being _stiff._

"You okay there, Thomas?

“No.” Thomas snapped, an answer to both questions, jingling his keys again just to annoy Harry. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping. “Sorry, no. Like I said, you said some pretty hurtful things last night. I don’t blame you, but I kind of need to be on my own for a while. And I’m not hungry. I can get something out if I want.”  
  
Before he left, on impulse, he turned and took a couple steps toward Harry. He pulled his brother into a tight hug, tucking his face against Harry’s shoulder for just a second. “I’m really glad you’re around, you know. I’m glad you’re my brother.”  
  
Then he let go of Harry and practically bolted out the door.

He  wasn’t surprised by the hug but he did wonder what he had said to Thomas to make him want to stay away. He was about to reciprocate but Thomas had already bolted.

He poked at his memories as he heard the door shut and found…nothing. There was a wall of black, empty blank.

Huh.

He felt a bit of nausea coming up. Too much booze he wasn’t used to. He tried to remember why he had been drinking.

Nothing.

He rubbed his eyes. He could deal with this at another time when his head wouldn’t hurt this much. He gathered his duster, put it on and left as well.

  
  


 


End file.
